Solve et Coagula
by Vixen Argentum
Summary: Separate and join together...behold a true meeting of minds! This is an Urahara/Mayuri Fanfic 100 challenge. All stories will be one-shots. Ratings are subject to change with each story. Details within.
1. Bete Noir

**Solve et Coagula: the Urahara/Mayuri Fanfic 100**

**I will be posting anywhere between 25 and 100 fics.**

~*Just a note about this project*~

I'll just say it now: Urahara/Mayuri is my OTP.

It doesn't mean that I feel that this pairing is the only chance that either character has at feeling true happiness. This isn't plausible in real life…and I have little use for fairytales.

I will not insist that this pairing _is_ or _was_ canon at any point. However, I do not feel that it is crack either, as there is a rich, unexplained history between them. I care about whether or not there is potential, nothing else. After all, love and hate are two sides of the same coin—the opposite of both is indifference…and indifference is not the canon emotion.

In my eyes, this pair has potential for growth. It has potential for healing. It has potential for pain, for suffering, and for stagnation. It is this infinite potential of relationship dynamics that I have fallen in love with—it is undefined, like dividing by zero.

Some of these will be fluffy, some of them will be angsty. Others will be DARK. You may even see me attempt humor—which I'm terrible at, but I'd like to improve. A few of these will probably be on the kinkier side…and I haven't decided whether I will head down the road of the_ truly_ disturbing. We'll see. I like every side of this pair—from total purification to total putrification.

That said, enjoy!

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_**Title:** Bête Noir  
__**Prompt:** #004 Insides**  
**__**Characters:** Urahara/Mayuri  
__**Warning:** Graphic description of surgery and slight fetishization of it, implied plans of non-con_

"Of course I trust you," Urahara said. "You have the most capable hands, and you won't say no."

Mayuri opened the surgical kit. The instruments didn't appear too much heavier, but Mayuri could feel the slight current of energy that flowed through them.

"I knew that you'd notice, Mayuri san!" Urahara beamed. "These tools are my self-sterilizing models! I developed it myself last year for surgeries that require a small team, especially when there is only one surgeon!"

"I see," Mayuri said flatly. "Is there any reason why you have requested that I do this alone?"

"Ah, it's nothing illegal," Urahara answered. "I just know that Hiyori-san won't take this well, and explaining it to the rest of the Gotei 13 just won't go over much better...not enough testing, or so they say." A twinkle appeared in his eyes. "I like for there to be a more…progressive atmosphere in my laboratory. Besides, there's no reason why it won't work!"

"As you wish." Mayuri's lips curled into a bitter smile.

"If it goes well, I'll do it for you, too!" Urahara patted Mayuri's shoulder. He stiffened under it.

Urahara had a point. If the device was implanted into the body, regeneration of spiritual power and physical health would occur with a tenfold increase. The trick was getting it to integrate correctly, deep in the chest cavity, behind the heart and lungs, with projections into the spinal cord, rendezvousing with and responding to signals carried though the vagus nerve. It would be useful.

This was how Mayuri had come to be alone with Urahara's naked, helpless body, holed away in one of the secret rooms that Urahara was so fond of building. His chest slowly rose and fell, deep from the dreams of the anesthesia.

The _ssssnnnnick_ of the scalpel as it cut through Urahara's bare, alcohol swabbed chest excited Mayuri more than it had expected him to. His heart pounded in his ears, making him giddy. He pushed the point in deeper, separating the thin layer of fat below the skin, then the muscle, then the connective tissues that surrounded the abdominal cavity. With each severed blood vessel, he clamped the hemostats down on them, staunching the flow until he could seal it with kidou.

He applied retractors to the sides of the incision so that it yawned further open so that his thin, spidery hands could plunge deeper, more easily into Urahara's body. The device was lightweight, flexible and fit flush against the spin as he pushed back to find it. Upon contact, threads of spiritual matter anchored themselves into the spaces of the bone and shot forward, projecting up towards his heart, his lungs, his neck.

His heart…

Mayuri rested his hand over it, feeling it pulse beneath his fingertips. From here, he could hear the thrumming recoil of blood against the aorta. He could smell the raw coppery scent of his Captain's insides, and it made him feel drunk on the power. He grabbed the heart and squeezed it, feeling the euphoric surge as kidou power filled his hand, causing Urahara's body to spasm. His eyes went wide, childlike. A capillary burst, spritzing him across the face. He wiped it off, but it mixed with his paint, the red and white mixing to pink.

Mayuri released his grip. Something was gnawing at him.

It wasn't a dirty conscience…no. He didn't have a conscience, so how could it get dirty?

Mayuri sighed. The wound yawned open…the cogs in Urahara's machinery clicking along steadily in plain view.

He closed it up, stitching the layers and healing them further with spells. Soon all that remained was a thin line that would probably remain as a scar, marking the midline of Urahara's chest, a bright red meridian. In fact, dare he say…it was attractive? It beckoned to him, calling to him. Mayuri bent in over his body and licked it, feeling the raised flesh under his tongue, the smooth texture against his lips. The faint metallic smell that lingered; it was intoxicating.

He wondered how much time Urahara had left under the anesthesia…if it was enough time to do the things that he was having the urge to do… He could add more time…

No.

Urahara had explicitly stated that he had a meeting with the other captains not long after. It was an insurance policy of sorts, that Urahara had built in, Mayuri supposed. They'd come looking for him if he didn't show up, and there would be one very obvious culprit with one very obvious motive. Then the tenuous freedom that he had acquired, even if it wasn't freedom at all would…it would…

Yes.

There would be other times in the future, other chances to feel the life course through his veins as he thrust himself into whatever opening he wanted—real or fake. There would be other chances to pull the plug on that man's life without a struggle. A deep warmth surged into his core as he considered the possibilities.

After all, like Urahara said, he _trusted_ him.


	2. Lovechild

_**Title:** Lovechild  
__**Prompt:** #028 Children  
__**Characters:** mild Urahara/Mayuri, Nemu, Ururu  
__**Warning:** Nothing, really. Just me making wild accusations._

_**A/N:** I'm going to try to post once a week. I don't know if I can keep it up-I'm a PhD student and I don't have a lot of time. But, if I can, I'd love to continue!_

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"Feel free to make yourself at home!"

"I'd rather not." Mayuri glared at Urahara, who continued his demented frying-pan-to-the-head grin out from under his hat. He couldn't see Urahara's eyes. The whole deal just made him nervous—he couldn't anticipate a damn thing. "Just tell Nemu where to put our things for the night."

"I see, this again. Ever since I moved out, you really are no fun. " Urahara sighed, pausing for a moment before returning to his usual busy self. "Very well, I'm sure I'll see you later tonight, Mayuri-san!"

"Our _things_," Mayuri reminded him.

"Oh, yes, of course! A-ha-ha-ha!" Urahara spun back around, gesturing down the hall with his fan. "Just have her follow Ururu-chan to where she needs to go!" He chirped. "Ururu! Take Nemu-chan to the guest rooms!"

He pulled the fan back in and fluttered it in front of his face. The superfluous movements did little to hide the man's nervousness—Urahara only thought himself hard to read, but perhaps with Mayuri, it was not a fair trial.

"In the meantime, why don't you and I…catch up a bit for old time's sake. Over tea?"

After 100 years…Urahara had actually managed to become even more flighty than he was before. Mayuri wrinkled his nose and waved his hand. "Perhaps later, if at all. I've changed my mind…I'll be going with Nemu to discuss some plans."

He was more preoccupied in something else, so much so that he didn't realize that he answered, _"Fine! All right! Whatever!"_ to Urahara's bright and cheery warning of _"I'll come visit you tonight!"_ before he skittered off.

Nemu's gaze was caught in that of a small girl who stood at the same height of Nemu's tightly restrained, yet obvious bust. Mayuri's own head cocked to the side against his volition as he looked at them…but he couldn't place what was coming to his mind…some sort of plan, a blueprint of sorts—the blue stains on his hands, and how the bio-ceramic powder stuck to the ink and followed the cracks in his skin.

Nemu dipped down, gingerly folding her legs so that one was squatting and the other one knelt. Her hands smoothed her skirt down over her thighs slowly, her speed effected by wonder… The little girl reached over and grabbed the bag that Nemu had slung over her shoulder, not even flinching at the weight that Mayuri had struggled to pack and that he had yelled at Nemu to pick up and carry to the human world. Yes…it was in those eyes, the melancholic gaze that betrayed a young face, the glossy raven hair that framed them.

He could see the sketches of how the tendons were to be wrapped specially over the heads of the bones and reinforced with extra cartilage for strength and flexibility. A crumpled parchment that he had once found when snooping through a book of notes that Urahara had carelessly left on a lab bench (or purposefully—he never could tell) …one with some elegant formulas that he had scribbled down into his own books and wrestled with later. When he had mentioned some flaws in the designs he had seen, Urahara had just waved his words away, saying that the whole sketch was just a silly idea that he had dreamt of ever since he was a boy..that he would think about it again sometime, when he was ready.

The project title was _Ururu_.

It was the little girl who reached up her hand, running a thumb over her Nemu's cheekbone, over the real yet surreal skin. She smiled with recognition of what existed beneath her fingertips, just as Nemu drank it in, the same unbiased, accepting manner of data assimilation from clues taken in by the conduits of her five—no six—senses from the real world.

Nemu's lips parted as if to say something but closed again.

"Sister." Said Ururu.

Mayuri would have been still, had it not been for the occasional muscle spasm from the build up of something in his limbs, in the twitching of his upper lip. The two girls wordlessly moved down the hallway side-by-side, shoulders rolled slightly forward, eyes that were both full-and-empty staring straight ahead, with dainty footsteps that did not echo. He did not understand it at all, what froze him in place—it twanged on his nerves a bit, like a mallet striking cheap piano strings that had been tuned too tightly.

Long after they were gone, Urahara had come back to find him there, holding two ceramic mugs of tea as if he had expected something. Mayuri accepted the drink that Urahara held it out to him, not even moving backward as the blond inched closer and closer.

Urahara inhaled the fragrant steam rising from his cup. "Hmmm…" he drawled. His gaze was hooded as he met Mayuri's eyes and grinned. "They sure grow up fast, don't they?"

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Reviews are instrumental in helping me to improve my writing and also for inspiration! If you read, please write!


	3. Metonymy

Ugh. Sorry for the long break. Trust me. You don't want to know.

_**Title:**__ Metonymy  
__**Prompt:**__ #011 Red  
__**Characters:**__ Urahara/Mayuri  
__**Warning:**__ General gore and mentions of disaster porn_

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Urahara looked in the lab.

As always, Mayuri was at his bench. The lights were turned off, but the full moon provided more than enough brightness to see clearly.

The remnants of…something graced the tabletop. A collection of organs were piled up in a little metal container along side a bloody mess of skin, fur, and bones with Mayuri's hands stuck in.

Mayuri wore no gloves, just the pale white of his hands stained red. Urahara frowned, opened his mouth and didn't say a word. He just silently observed the frenzied but seemingly happy muttering that was accompanied by the occasional _gish_ of tissues giving way.

Carefully, muting the sound of each step, he crept over to the working man. He observed the angles that his body cut in his lab coat, his narrow shoulders, the jaunt of a hip.

He loved the man who bandied about ideas, the man who kept his wild mind in close-clipped order. He loved the man who stayed up all hours of the night scribbling down equations and diagrams, debating arguments, and hurling insults at him through the paper-thin wall next door.

He didn't want to love the man before him now, who created carnage to satisfy his own cravings for chaos. That was a dangerous road to go down, one that was scarily seductive. The more one does questionable things, the easier doing them becomes…

There was no point in not accepting a part of the whole. He had to love him, frightening beauty and all. The red that coursed through them both. Gods, he loved him all wrong, like the slowed tempo of voyeurs pretending to ignore a fatal crash.

Urahara wrapped his arms around Mayuri's waist. Mayuri paused for a breath before continuing with his tinkering. He stayed there in Urahara's arms as he worked.

It was here that they met half way.


End file.
